


you've been holding on a long time

by themetaphorgirl



Series: Canon and Canon Divergences [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alex Blake is a queen, Angst, Drama, Episode: s02e15 Revelations, Episode: s04e07 Memoriam, Episode: s06e12 Corazón, F/M, Gen, Headaches, Hotch is a dad, Hurt/Comfort, Nosebleeds, Seizures, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Suffers in Silence, Spencer Reid Whump, migraines, seizure disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetaphorgirl/pseuds/themetaphorgirl
Summary: Spencer's life is a collection of unaddressed trauma. There's a thin thread connecting his cardiac arrest in a remote cabin in Georgia, to the migraines that refuse to relent, to the seizures that threaten him all the way to the end.but even a thin thread is something to hold onto, sheer and stubborn spite keeping sewn him together.
Relationships: Maeve Donovan/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Series: Canon and Canon Divergences [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935475
Comments: 36
Kudos: 361





	you've been holding on a long time

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "i love love love your drabbles!!! im also a sucker for hurt spencer (which im pretty sure almost everyone is, at this point). would you ever write something about spencer getting nosebleeds? i know that sounds random, but they're super common with people who get chronic headaches and i just find the idea of the team starting to carry tissue with them everywhere hilarious"
> 
> (it ended up angsty instead of hilarious, so sorry, original prompter)
> 
> also posted on ff.net under the name Keitorin Asthore

* * *

_and oh, poor Atlas_

_the world's a beast of a burden_

_you've been holding on a long time_

_and all this longing_

_and the ships are left to rust_

\--"What the Water Gave Me," Florence + the Machine

* * *

Morgan stood with his feet planted apart, arms crossed over his chest. "We're looking for a white male, early to mid twenties," he said.

The members of the police department watched them attentively, taking notes. "He'll most likely be driving a pickup truck, a larger model," Rossi continued.

"He's extremely organized, everything he does is methodical and planned in advance," Reid added. He was sitting crosslegged on a desk, the hems of his pants hiked up and showing one green sock and one yellow one. Morgan watched him out of the corner of his eye. There was something off about the kid, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was pale, a little jittery, his long hair- the longest he'd seen it so far- brushing against his collar.

They talked through the profile- there wasn't much to go on, and it was frustrating, but it was better than nothing. Hotch made the closing remarks, JJ at his side, and Morgan allowed himself to relax just a little bit. He glanced over at Reid and his heart dropped.

Reid was concentrating on Hotch and JJ, brow furrowed as he listened to them speak, but something dark was beginning to seep from his nose. He didn't seem to be aware of it, and Morgan unfolded his arms.

"Please keep us updated if you have any new information," Hotch said. "Thank you for yout time."

As soon as the crowd began to disperse, Morgan grabbed Reid by the elbow and tugged him off the desk, his long legs unfolding with a startled lack of grace. "What are you doing?" he sputtered.

Morgan pulled him into the nearest office and closed the door. "Your nose is bleeding," he said.

Reid blinked in confusion and gingerly touched his fingertips to his face, then looked up at Morgan in wide-eyed panic. "I didn't...I didn't notice," he said.

He sank into a chair, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Morgan grabbed a box of tissues off the desk, wadded up a handful, and held it to Reid's face. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked, guiding Reid's hand to take the tissues. "Anything happen that I don't know about?"

"No, nothing," Reid said, bewildered, his voice slightly muffled. "I've had kind of a headache for a day or two, but nothing to be worried about." He pulled the tissues back and looked at the red stain in surprise. "I didn't even know."

Morgan moved his hand back to cover his nose, then pressed his hand lightly between Reid's shoulderblades until he was tilting forward. "Just take a second," he said. "You get things like this often?" He shook his head.

Morgan sat down on the desk opposite him. Reid shrank in his chair, hunched over like a scolded kid in the principal's office, the toes of his converses turning in. "Take it easy, pretty boy," he said. "It'll be a while till the press release goes out and we start getting calls on the tipline. All right?"

"All right," Reid echoed, his voice small and muffled.

* * *

The last hour had been a nightmare, and Rossi had never seen Reid like this before. The kid was a second away from fracturing into pieces in front of him. The drive to his father's law firm had been painfully silent, the air thick with tension, and the second they got into the building he went pale, his anger draining immediately into panic, leaving him unable to speak.

But he could handle panic, he could handle anger. He couldn't handle hearing the tremor in Reid's voice, seeing him visibly biting back tears. And he couldn't handle William Reid trying to play it off, trying to pretend like he had always cared about the child he hadn't seen in seventeen years.

He didn't like William Reid. There was a sharpness to him that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, the way his demeanor changed abruptly when he demanded they get a warrant.

He didn't like him at all.

Reid pushed through the law firm's doors, storming ahead of them. "That was rough," Morgan said in a low voice.

Rossi caught his arm. "Give me a second to talk to him," he said. "See if he can calm down a little bit before we put him back in the car." Morgan nodded.

Reid paced on the sidewalk, arms crossed protectively over his stomach. "Hey," Rossi said. "How're you doing, kid?"

"Fine," Reid said. "Fine. I'm fine. We should-" He gritted his teeth. "I'm fine."

Rossi waited, watching Reid pace. "You wanna talk about what happened?" he asked quietly.

Reid shook his head. His lower lip trembled, and Rossi chose not to mention it. Spencer Reid didn't typically wear his heart on his sleeve, but right that moment all he could see was a scared, hurting kid. Seeing his father again after seventeen years had rattled him loose, the unsteady scaffolding keeping him upright threatening to fall.

"Your nose is bleeding," Rossi said.

Spencer touched his face, his hand shaking, and his face crumpled. " _God_ ," he mumbled under his breath, blood dripping down his fingers.

The scaffolding was collapsing. Rossi took him by the elbow and guided him to sit down on a nearby bench; Spencer sank down without a fight. "Here," he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket.

Spencer held the handkerchief over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned over. "Thanks," he said, exhaling deeply. "You won't want this back. I'll get you a new one."

"Don't worry about it," Rossi said. Spencer's shoulderblades jutted out sharply through his thin shirt; he rested his hand on his back. "You're sure you don't want to talk about...anything?"

"No, thanks."

He felt Spencer's shoulders hitch, but he didn't make a sound. Rossi leaned back and looked up at the cloudless sky. He wasn't about to force the kid to talk, but god, he wished he could.

After a while Spencer sat up, his face blotchy and his cheeks a little damp, but his chin set stubbornly. "Sorry," he said, crumpling up the soaked handkerchief. There was still a little blood dampening the sides of his nose. "I get these sometimes."

"Nosebleeds?"

"Headaches," he said. "And then, nosebleeds. Ever since what happened in Georgia…"

His voice trailed off. Rossi didn't press. He knew what happened in Georgia. Not that he'd ever asked Spencer about it directly. Not long after he'd returned to the BAU, he'd asked a couple of questions, and the response was JJ leaving a file on his desk with a pointed stare.

Spencer rolled his shoulders. "Can we go?" he asked quietly.

"Sure," Rossi said. He squeezed Spencer's shoulder. "Let's go, _caro_."

* * *

Flights home were always so much better than flights to a job. JJ curled up in her seat, laughing as she watched Emily and Morgan bicker over their poker game. "C'mon, someone needs to put her in her place," Morgan complained.

Emily cackled as she swept the pile of quarters and nickels. "You're just a sore loser," she teased.

"Hey, pretty boy, You want to join in?" Morgan called. "If I can't beat her, I need the satisfaction of watching you do it for me."

Spencer didn't answer. He sat next to her, his cheek resting in his hand, a book opened on his lap, his eyes half lidded. JJ elbowed him lightly. "Yeah, Spence, you want to beat both of them?" she said. He didn't answer. "Spence?"

A fat drop of blood plunked onto the open pages of the book.

JJ sat up, uncurling her legs. "Hey, Spence, are you okay?" she asked. Morgan and Emily set aside their cards, watching. She pressed her hands against his cheeks and tilted his face up.

"Is he getting a nosebleed again?" Morgan asked.

She nodded, anxiously searching his face. Spencer's eyes were hazy. His nose was gushing blood now, dropping steadily onto his book. Emily silently held out a stack of paper towels from the jet bathroom; JJ folded a couple of them together and cupped it over his nose, trying to stem the flow.

"Hey, Spence, can you talk to me?" she asked. His lips parted like was about to speak, but no sound came out.

Hotch leaned over her. "I think he's seizing," he said softly.

JJ's heart dropped. "No, he-" she started to say, but her heart sank. Spencer turned his head slightly, his long slender fingers plucking at the pages of his book, delicate and rhythmic. The paper towel in her hand was soaked through; Emily handed her a couple more.

She held her breath, waiting it out, and soon Spencer's hand began to still and his chin tipped into his chest. He blinked. "JJ?" he mumbled. "My mouth...tastes like pennies."

She smiled despite herself. "Yeah, champ, you had a nosebleed," she said.

He screwed up his face. "Another one?" he said.

She pulled the paper towels away from his face. "Yeah, but it looks like it's stopped," she said.

Hotch frowned. "What do you mean, another one?" he asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing," he said. There was a slight slur to his words, a slight unsteadiness, and JJ ran her hand through his thick tangled hair. "I'm...I'm tired."

"Let's get you cleaned up a little bit, and then you can lie down," JJ offered. His shirt was faintly speckled with blood, and his book was definitely a lost cause. "And maybe you should make a doctor's appointment, if this keeps happening."

He dug the heel of his palm into his right eye. "Yeah, maybe," he mumbled.

* * *

Hotch sat up, switching off the alarm at the first ring, and yawned as he dragged his hands over his face. He was more than ready to leave Miami. It had been a bizarre case, and he couldn't wait to leave it behind him.

He got up, throwing the covers back, but he left the lights off. In the early morning dimness he could see Reid's shape in the other bed, curled up tightly with the blankets pulled up around his ears. Best to let him sleep a little longer. There was something wrong with Reid- the squinting, covering his ears, his pallor, the way he kept digging his fingers into eyes. But, like always, the kid wasn't talking about it.

He showered and dressed, preparing for the three-hour flight home. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Reid was still asleep. Maybe he'd forgotten to set an alarm. Although that wasn't like him.

He touched his shoulder lightly. "Reid, time to wake up," he said, keeping his voice quiet. Reid mumbled something back at him and he half smiled. It wasn't much different from getting Jack up for school. "Come on, Dr. Reid, you can nap on the plane."

Reid pushed the blankets back and Hotch's heart plummeted. "Holy shit," he breathed.

He'd seen dozens, maybe hundreds of crime scenes in his career. This definitely looked like one. Blood covered Reid's face and neck, soaking into the gray tee shirt he'd worn to sleep, smearing across his pillow. And he didn't seem aware of it, he just blinked sleepily and rubbed his eyes.

"What time is it?" Reid said.

Hotch sat down beside him, pressing his fingers against the pulse in his neck. "Are you all right?" he demanded. "If you got hurt and didn't say anything about it-"

"No, no, I didn't," Reid said. He struggled to sit up and his whole body swayed with the effort. "No, I have a...a headache."

Hotch gripped his upper arms, steadying him. "Just a headache?" he asked.

"Yeah."

It wasn't just a headache. There was more to it, there had to be more to it. Reid liked to hide potential catastrophes from the rest of the team, there had to be something else he was hiding now.

Reid's face twisted. Dried blood cracked on his chin. "Why am I so dizzy?" he said.

He would press him for more information later. "I think you had a nosebleed in your sleep," he said.

Reid looked around, eyes widening as he noticed the carnage around him. "Oh, god," he said, startled, pulling at the neckline of his shirt. He dropped his hand when he realized the blood had soaked all the way down his front. "Oh, god…"

"Don't worry about it right now," Hotch said. "Go get cleaned up."

Reid nodded, eyes glazed over, and he climbed unsteadily out of the bed, allowing Hotch to brace his back. He could talk to Reid about it later. There'd be time later.

* * *

If there wasn't a crime scene about a dozen yards away, it would have been a nice day. The weather was pleasant, the breeze ruffling her ponytail, and the park was lovely, all tall trees and cared-for flowers.

Alex listened to Hotch and JJ talk to the local police chief, filing information away neatly for later. Beside her Spencer ducked his head, rubbing at his eyes. _Light sensitivity_ , she thought. _Must be another migraine._

He'd told her about the migraines, when he told her about his phone booth girl, and after that she had become pretty adept at picking up on his tells. Lately, though, it was more difficult to discern between the signs of a migraine and the pressure of grief. It had only been a month since Maeve's death, and he was still putting himself back together.

The police chief waved them forward to take a closer look at the crime scene, and she started to follow.

"Alex?"

She stopped immediately. "Uh-huh?" she said.

Spencer wavered, as if the breeze was enough to knock him over. "I, um…" he said. She waited, tilting her head. "I need help."

"What can I do?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He plucked at the collar of his shirt. "I think...I think I'm going to have a seizure," he whispered. "It's...um…"

Blood began to seep from his nose. Alex slid her arm around his waist and tugged him along beside her. There was a little copse of trees, a safe enough distance from the crime scene. There wasn't much cover, but it was better than nothing.

His knees buckled and she helped him ease down to the soft grass. She scanned their surroundings- enough space, some privacy, nothing that could potentially injure him. The old habits came back to her like it was yesterday.

Spencer gingerly brushed at the blood on his face; it did nothing to stem the flow. "Thanks," he said. He removed his Smith and Wesson from his holster and she moved it out of harm's way.

"How can you tell?" she asked quietly.

"Can't...see straight," he said. He gestured limply at his temples. "Auras."

She nodded. He fumbled for the buttons at his collar, smearing blood on the fabric, and she unbuttoned the top three for from, giving him space to breathe. A little groan broke from his throat. "You're safe," she said quietly. "I'll stay with you. I won't leave."

He sighed, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

She heard soft footsteps approaching. "Hey, I'm gonna need you to stay back," she said.

JJ stopped. "What's wrong?" she said. "Spence?" Spencer's head tilted back. "Blake, what's wrong with Spence?"

He sank back into the grass and she braced his shoulders until she was sure he was against the ground. "He's having a seizure," she said calmly.

"Oh my god," JJ breathed. "Oh my god, is he-"

"Don't worry," Alex said. "I've done this before. Just time it for me, please?"

Spencer began to buck against the grass, his muscles tightening. Alex sat beside him and watched him carefully. JJ kept looking from her phone's timer to Spencer, biting her lip as he seized. His nose still bled, dripping steadily, and Alex gently tilted his head to the side.

This was the worst part. The waiting. It all came back in a dizzying rush, the hundreds of times that she'd sat her beside her son, watching like a hawk, holding out for the moment he began to calm.

But it didn't do her any good to dwell on the past, and Spencer began to still, his long arms and legs quieting. "How long was that?" Alex asked.

"Two and a half minutes," JJ said, her voice cracking. "That's still okay, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's still fine," Alex reassured her. "Past four minutes, that's when you really need to worry." She slid an arm under Spencer's shoulders, bracing his neck, and shifted him onto his side. "Does he have a history of seizures?"

JJ nodded. "Ever since Georgia," she said. She dashed at her eyes, and Alex ran her hand along Spencer's side, feeling him breathe. "He was...he was kidnapped, and he had a seizure and went into cardiac arrest. And ever since he's...yeah, it's been a problem. Nothing super major, I haven't seen anything this bad in a really long time, but…"

Alex kept her hand on Spencer's side, his ribs hollow against her fingers. "He's been through hell in the past month," she said. "Not a surprise, really."

Blood still gushed from his nose, soaking into the grass. "Hey, JJ, can you find something to help clean this up?" she asked. "There's a washcloth in my go-bag. Maybe check Spencer's bag, see if you can get him a clean shirt."

"Yeah, of course," JJ said. "I'll be right back."

Alex kept running her hand along Spencer's side. He was still and quiet now, his breathing evening out again. She remembered this too, waiting for her baby to open his big brown eyes, staying close so he wouldn't be afraid when he woke up.

Spencer started to rouse, his face scrunching a little. His nosebleed was finally beginning to clot and slow down, drying dark on his cheeks and neck. "Hey, darling," she said, smoothing his long untidy hair. "Are you coming back to me?"

Whatever he was trying to say stuck in his throat, but his eyes opened, still unfocused. She kept one hand on his side and the other tangled in his hair. Spencer's breathing picked up for a moment, his confusion palpable. "You had a seizure," Alex told him. "Tonic clonic, two and a half minutes. You're safe."

He blinked, coherence shifting back, and she smiled. "There you are," she said.

Spencer sighed heavily. "I'm safe?" he repeated, his voice thick and sleepy.

"You are," she reassured him. "JJ's getting you a clean shirt, and we'll get you back to the hotel to sleep for a while."

He shifted around so he could see her better; she moved her hand to rest against his stomach, gauging the steadiness of his breathing and watching the light catch his big brown eyes. "Thanks, Alex," he said hazily, and she smiled at him.

* * *

He sat alone in the bullpen, absently rubbing at his eyes. It was always his right eye first, always, pain and pressure digging into his ocular cavity. He could feel it in the nape of his neck, too, sharp and ever-present, and the dim warm lights around him seemed sharp white, piercing through the hazy colors of the aura shifting in his vision.

The first drop of blood rolled from his nose, catching on his lower lip. Spencer sat up, a little too quickly, the metallic taste already seeping into his mouth. He fumbled for the box of tissues on his desk, wadding one up and pressing it to his nose, hoping the could convince it to stop.

He could manage his migraines, at the very least convince them to stay a mild headache, but they never went away, not really. The nosebleed meant it was a bad one; he hadn't had a nosebleed in months, and hadn't had a seizure longer than that.

But it never left the back of his thoughts, the nagging worry that these migraines, or one particularly bad seizure, would mean the end of his career, the end of _him_.

And there wasn't a safety net anymore. Hotch was in witness protection. Morgan and JJ were busy with their families- and Morgan was gone, anyway. Emily was across the ocean, and while he still saw Alex on occasion, visiting her in Boston on holidays, it wasn't the same. And he knew Garcia would drop everything to help him, in a heartbeat, before he even asked...but he didn't want to ask. He'd made her cry too many times during time in the BAU, he couldn't do that to her again.

The thin tissue was wet and scarlet; he wadded it up and pressed another to his nose. _She would have figured it out_ , a horrible little voice whispered in the back of his mind. _She could have helped you. But you-_

Sometimes he would pause by payphones, imagining the comfort of dropping quarters and waiting for her to call back, hearing her soft reassuring voice. He remembered every conversation, yes, but he wanted a new one, he'd played every single talk over and over and over again in his mind, and he craved new words.

_She could have figured it out, but you don't deserve it._

It was stupid and childish as best, harmful and destructive at worst. But somehow, in the time since he had gotten her killed, he had begun to relish the pain that tore through him with every migraine. That was what he deserved. He didn't deserve to be cured.

Blood pooled in the cup of his palm, hot and sticky. He pressed another tissue to his face and went back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, this started off as a cute prompt fill for my tumblr, and then it just...got away from me.
> 
> If you've read my season 2 Revelations/drug addiction/drug withdrawal parts of Waving Through a Window, I've played around with the theory that after his cardiac arrest and seizure during his kidnapping, Spencer started experiencing occasional seizures of varying severity, and the seizures triggered his chronic migraines. It didn't take too many steps to connect the nosebleeds to that, either.
> 
> (the last section with Maeve just kind of...happened. It was supposed to end with an Emily section. I don't know how I got there, but I did.)
> 
> Also. My neverending love of Alex Blake. She adored Spencer. And clearly he bonded with her and trusted her too. It's such an underrated relationship. And I really want to delve into her nine years away from the FBI raising a critically ill child.
> 
> Anyways! My tumblr is themetaphorgirl if you'd like to chat or prompt something!! Thanks for reading!!


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